


no secret stays secret

by hoars



Series: that boy is a monster [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cultural Differences, Dubious Consent Between Original Characters, Grief, M/M, Mpreg, Parents Meet, Underage Sex, canon character death, loss of a spouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:10:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John follows Stiles into the woods one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no secret stays secret

John follows Stiles into the woods one night.

Stiles is blithe and walks slowly on the overgrown trail at peace in his own mind. John’s teeth are on edge. His pregnant son should not be so reckless with his health and that of his unborn child. John’s grandchild.

There’s monsters in this forest.

John has been present for every autopsy for every body the monsters spew back onto their little town’s limits. The bodies are always gnawed on, missing limbs, deep gouges made into cold flesh. Rarely will John and his department find the corpse of a former civilian with something as simply as a broken neck. More and more, the monsters his parents spent his childhood convincing him were imaginary leave the stories to rejoin the real world.

Children learned the Grimms' tales by heart. They're taught to keep holly, mountain ash and mistletoe in their pockets. John can't remember a time when he wasn't afraid of the woods surrounding Beacon Hills. He controls his breathing with no difficulty, forcing his heart to stay calm. How his child can walks these woods so freely isn't a mystery -- "John, love, be brave." His wife has whispered to him since they were fourteen and he's never heard her voice stop even after her death. -- but why is. Stiles is a good boy. John has done his best to make Stiles know the dangers hiding in these woods and how to avoid them.

And now John watches him walk right into a beast's lair.

Everyone's heard about the Hales. The Argents coming to town nearly forty years ago to spill the secret to every ear. By all accounts, before the supernatural and its hunters forced everything to the open, the Hales had been decent people. Now, they wander the woods. Sometimes as wolves, creeping through the trees like shadows. Giant beasts with intelligent eyes and gray-white pelts that never seem to change back. Human shapes sometimes running with them under the full moon. It seems to John, some of the Hales forgot how to be human and made the others carry the burden. It would have been sad, if the Hales didn't kill every man and woman that dared to step over their territory line.

Like what the Stilinskis are doing tonight. His gun feels light and useless in his pocket. Still, he holds it.

His son is a gifted liar at the worst of times.

For months, John was oblivious to what was happening to his son.

Long hours at the office, Stiles avoiding him, Melissa and him rekindling their friendship...

It is no excuse. He blames himself. He should have been paying attention, should have known something was different when Stiles became quiet and withdrawn. When John couldn't say for sure if he'd seen his son that day or week. Stiles sightings becoming rare in the Stilinski household.

His heart had nearly stopped the night he checked on Stiles. His sheets pushed down to the foot of his bed and his hoodie pushed up, catching around a firm but round belly. Stiles was-- John had backed out from the room, breathing heavily. In his course of work, he'd seen too many pregnant kids. Poor Joseph last year and his twice damned step-father. Then there had been Carly and her parents foaming at the mouth to arrest the other parent on statuary rape charges. At the time, John had felt bad for the kid. Min only four years older than seventeen Carly, but her parents hadn't cared. Now John understands.

Stiles is seventeen too.

John wants to storm the small cottage and demand answers, but he isn't stupid. He can see the larger house, at least the roof, of the Hale house. They have pictures of the house in the archives and it's Old Hollywood. Big and grand, fancy and beautiful and surrounded by similar cottages doting through the woods. The Hales that aren't just wolves have a duty to care for the rest of the family -- _omega, beta, alpha; blood is blood_ \-- and have posted themselves randomly through the woods to be accessible. Where one Hale is, four more are close by.

He's wary of the whispering trees, mindful of who is here. He keeps his eyes focused on the cottage his son disappeared into. At the corner of his eyes, he can see shadows. Men and women observing him and leaving. Some wolf eyes coming to drink him in but quick to leave. One stays and continues to watch, even as the cottage's lights go out. John blinks tiredly, and glances at the woman that remains.

She's beautiful in the dark. Maybe even if it was light out.

The she-wolf's eyes are the color of mulberries. She appears to be his age. Long, wild, dark hair falling pass her shoulders, a tiny smirk on her face. She's leaning against the tree. Relaxed but ready to strike and John knows exactly who this woman is. He's only read her file dozens upon dozens of times.

"Talia." He says stiffly.

"Sheriff." She drawls.

She glances at the cottage he'd been so preoccupied with. "They're cute, aren't they? Your son isn't what I expected Derek to bring home, but well, my kids live to surprise me."

"His name is Derek?" John asks.

"The monster that your son is leaving you for? Yes, that's Derek." Talia confirms. She pushes off the tree using her shoulders, looking insidious. There's a darkness surrounding her that's threatening to drag him into her orbit. Is this how Stiles felt when he met his monster? Drawn to the same primal energy that Talia's skin is vibrating with? "Why don't you come in?" She tilts her head into the direction of the main house. "We'll sit down. Have tea and scones." She smiles somewhat mockingly. "And we can discuss your ridiculous preconceived human notions."

Unless John wants to go into a wolf's den and drag out Stiles by the nape of his neck, he's sitting in the middle of werewolf territory at night with only a gun and a handful of bullets. He smiles grimly at Talia. "Lead the way."

The werewolf's house reeks expensive -- paintings, rugs, vases, flowers, clocks, books, leather couches, highly polished wood tables and chairs. John is surprised. He didn't expect the Hales to be wealthy. If pressed, John would admit to believing they lived in the woods like savages despite all the evidence he has to the contrary. Talia spares him another taunting smile.

"We _are_ civilized." Talia says.

She leads him into the kitchen. There's a stools around an island bar she waves him towards. He watches her bustle around. Filling the kettle, putting on the stove top, preparing the cups and tea bags. She moves light on her feet. John can't help but be grudgingly impressed. He's only fifty-three and he's feeling his age. Talia with a streak of grey he can see due to the lighting frames one side of her face and the only signs of aging he can see are her deep laugh lines and crow’s feet.

"The bodies in the morgue would like to say otherwise." He says dryly.

"Do not expect me to feel remorse for any of them." Talia says, pouring water into the cups. "Children pretending to be hunters, goading each other to kill my pack. No, I have no remorse for them."

"They were still people." John says as she sets a cup in front of him. He can smell mint, tickling his nose.

"And we aren't?" Talia raises a pointed eyebrow. "If you say no, I may break your jaw." She doesn't lose her pleasant tone of voice. She sets a small plate of scones down in the middle of the table.

"Exactly, you're people too. And people do things a certain way." John counters.

Talia throws her head back and laughs. "I think we could grow to like each other quite a bit." John sips on his too hot tea, scorching his tongue, rather than respond to that. "Stiles wandered into our territory almost a year looking for wolf's bane. We thought he was another one of Argent's child soldiers, so we dispatched Derek to take care of the problem. Derek-- he decided differently." Her red eyes gleam. "He just kept coming back."

That--

That sounds like his kid actually. John can almost see it unfolding in his mind. Stiles stumbling into the woods because of a stupid dare. Someone -- Derek -- snarling at him to go away and stay away. Stiles coming back because Derek is _interesting_. How often has John seen that scene repeat between Stiles and the redhead girl, what's her name, -- Lydia? Stiles likes volatile people. The more dangerous the better it seems.

_Like his dad_ , his wife's memory laughs.

"Why didn't you forbid him from coming here?" John asks. John trusts his kid, to an extent, and he trusts his own parenting. It's everyone else's kids and parenting he doesn't trust and Talia is reminding him why. "You are the alpha, right?"

"Yes," Her red eyes flashing dramatically. John holds her gaze. "Derek is one of my more difficult children." She smiles bitterly. "And that's saying something. My oldest, Laura, was seventeen when she manifested her wolf form. She never changed back. She joined my mate as a wolf, most likely for the rest of their lives." She clicks her tongue. "Natalie left the land, married into another pack. Cora decided to become a hunter of her own kind. Derek-- my only son and my middle child. He was always such a happy boy, until he got caught by Argents when he was sixteen. They held him for forty-eight hours. He hasn't really smiled since." She tilts her head slightly and smiles happily. "And now he is."

John freezes slightly before he can take a bite of the cranberry scones. The way she's speaking, looking at him--

"Did Stiles agree to any of this or was he forced?" He demands.

What wouldn't John do to make Stiles happily? Okay, fine, he wouldn't do anything like kidnap someone for his kid to play house with, but John would get his hands dirty.

"He agreed. Wanted it even." Talia sips her tea. "It confused Derek. Your son is quite remarkable."

"And yet he's pregnant." John says flatly.

"Technically married as well." Talia adds helpfully. "The hunters might deny us our human rights, but the government recognizes us. Our sons completed all the rites."

Damn it, Stiles. He couldn't do anything by the half could he? He bites into the scone. It crumbles in his mouth, turning it dry. Of course that's when Talia chooses to speak again. His defenses are down due to a scone and a surplus of information.

"Let me tell you what this means." Talia breaks a scone down. "Derek will never take another lover. If Stiles tries, the outcome will be gruesome. Mates are for life. Derek will protect Stiles to the end. Even then, we have our legends of mates helping beyond death. Stiles will be obligated to care for Derek in times of weakness. Wolfsbane, poison, disease, whatever." She shrugs, a moment of discomfort taking over her face. "I haven't seen my mate's human face in eight years." She smiles sadly. "But a bond between mates that's superfluous." John considers that. If his wife still lived, would he care what form as long as he could still hold her and speak to her? No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't care if she looked like Freddy Krueger if it meant he got her back. "Stiles is protected by the pack. He is free to travel these woods. If a creature not welcome dares to hurt him, any one of my pack will protect him. He'll be-- your son will be Derek's humanity. That's precious. More dear than you'll ever know." She falls silent for a time. The two of them drinking tea and eating scones. "I believe they love each other, sheriff. What more could you ask for?"

John doesn't know how to explain it to the she-wolf in a way she won't brush off. Stiles' age doesn't seem to concern her. Neither does the fact he's human. He's angry with her but understands. She's looking out for her kid.

"His happiness." John finally answers. "And I don't think he's going to get that here. He's seventeen and stupid. He got _married_ on an impulse is having a child he's hiding. This isn't a recipe for a decent future."

Talia stares at him for long time, measuring his worth. "I think those are his decisions. Not yours. And he has to live with them." _Or else_ floatingbetween her words. "So try to be supportive. He'll need you."

"And if I decide to take Stiles and run?" John asks.

Talia smirks, the darkness she's wearing around her now poised to strike. "You won't get far. And then we'll take him from you and I'll make sure you never see him or your grandchild."

John freezes. The air in his lungs still. His heart is pounding in over drive and John stares at her. Talia pushes away from the island bar. Her stool not even screeching. She begins clearing the island bar.

Day breaks.

Talia gone to bed upstairs, leaving him to sleep on the couch. He didn't really sleep. He's been weighing his options all night. Take Stiles and run. Leave Stiles alone. Leave the Hales be. Set the hunters on them. Choices and decisions but like Talia said, they were Stiles' to make.

He hasn't reached a solid decision when the front door opens. John sits up, rubbing his face. Fifty-three, he thinks again. The couch has done him less favors than the lack of sleep.

"In there." He hears a man say. The voice is lighter than John would expect from a werewolf. Even Taila's voice is a raspy contralto. It's more tender than he expected too. John had feared his son's werewolf would be rough and cruel.

"It's okay." Stiles says in return. "Everything will be fine."

There's a telling silence. It could be a kiss. A hug. Definitely an act of love. Love is a language he's more than familiar with -- his wife, god he misses her -- and it makes him droop. If Stiles really feels--

"Dad," Stiles edges into the room shyly, dragging a man John could envision his son going stupid for in seconds behind him. The funny thing is, if he didn't know Derek Hale was a werewolf, he'd never guess. "This is Derek. He's my--he's, well, kind of mine. And vice versa." Stiles fidgets nervously. His hands are in his hoodie pocket and John can see the evidence of his grandchild. The first time Stiles has been blatant about his pregnancy. "And this is my dad."

" _He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, sheriff_." He remembers Talia say as she washes the dishes.

John gets off the couch and shakes Derek's hand. "Nice to meet you, Derek."

Stiles smiles in relief, amber eyes like his wife's shining, and John wonders how long he's been raising a wolf. Wonders how much of his family wore sheep coats to hide their amber eyes and claws.

"Sheriff." Derek says, his grip firm.

_Hell is empty and all the devils are here_ and John musters a smile.

 


End file.
